The End That Is the Beginning
by Ahmanduhz
Summary: Brittany makes a big decision. Along with the decision is a promise to herself to have a perfect day before the end. She thinks New York is the perfect place to do this, but what she isn't expecting is meeting Santana Lopez. [On Hiatus]
1. Perfect Day

_The world is round and _

_the place which may seem _

_like the end may also be only _

_the beginning._

_-Ivy Baker Priest_

* * *

It has been a month since Brittany began to consider it.

It has been a month of thinking and gliding through the days as best she could.

It has been a month, and she has finally made her decision: she is going to do it.

(She just can't take it anymore.)

It's Thursday morning, after getting her progress report from Mrs. Bletheim, which shows her still failing algebra II, when she makes the decision. She makes it through the rest of that Thursday, and then all of Friday.

She spends the night with her family, eating dinner and then sitting in front of the TV until her little sister's bedtime, in which she leads her up to her bedroom, tucks her in bed and gives her a sweet goodbye before exiting the room. She moves down the hallway, catching a spec of her parents voices as she disappears into her own room. With her door securely shut, she takes a seat at her desk, grabs a blue crayon and piece of paper and starts to write.

When her letter is complete, she folds it and slips it into the envelope she grabbed from the kitchen earlier. With it resting safely atop her desk, she turns out the light and crawls into her bed, next to her favorite cat. She presses the button to start their favorite movie before looking over at him. He looks right back—dark, loving, steady eyes focused solely on her—and she feels like he understands. (He's the one that always understands.)

* * *

She wakes up early Saturday morning, even though she has plenty of time. Her cellphone is the first thing she grabs, along with earphones, because it's the most important—for it holds all of her music and favorite pictures. Next, she grabs her secret stash of money and swipes the envelope from her desk and heads downstairs.

She leaves the letter in the kitchen on the third shelf down in the pantry, a place she knows her mom won't find until the end of the day when she starts dinner, and heads out the door.

She climbs in the taxi waiting on the curb and asks the driver to take her to the airport.

"No bags?" he asks.

"No bags," she repeats.

* * *

Brittany has been on an airplane a few times before, when she was younger, but not recently and never by herself. She isn't exactly sure how everything works, but she's made a promise to herself that this will be the perfect day and she won't fret.

The taxi stops on the road right in front of the building; the driver reads her the cost, she pays, and then he's off. She takes her time crossing the busy street, content with her slow pace as she watches everything move around her. It seems strange to her that everyone is rushing around, so desperate to get to wherever it is they're headed; people fast-walk in and out of the automatic sliding doors and across the street where cars are inching their way forward impatiently. A few people give her dirty looks as they push past her, but she just smiles all the same. (Some people actually smile back, but most don't even notice as they rush off).

When she makes it through the doors, the first sign she sees is _American Airlines_; she decides it's as good as anything and joins the line. It only takes about ten minutes until she's at the front of the line and a woman is waving her over.

"How may I help you today?" the woman asks.

Brittany smiles at the women's friendliness and says, "I want to go to New York."

"New York City?" Brittany pauses a moment before nodding. The woman smiles. "Okay, let's see what we've got."

* * *

Brittany spends $350 on a one-way plane ticket to New York City, and then the woman kindly directs her to her gate.

As she enters the terminal, people begin to slow. It's the opposite of how it was outside: the majority of the people are relaxing while only a few are rushing down the walkway. Nobody pays mind to her as she makes her way to gate A5, where the woman told her to go; it ends up being one of the more crowded ones. She looks at the flight number on the screen—1430—and checks her ticket, which also reads 1430, and then takes a seat at the free spot at the charging station in front of her.

Her flight is at 7:10 A.M., and it's only 6:50, so she sits and she waits.

* * *

The plane has open seating, so Brittany walks back tentatively until she finds an empty seat next to a nice-looking older couple. She gets the aisle seat, preventing her a good view out the window, which she finds slightly disappointing.

She's surprised when the older man notices.

"Would you like the window seat?" he asks. The woman between them smiles, also waiting for her answer.

"Oh," she says, looking at the two before giving a slight nod. "I would."

"Come on, we'll switch."

Brittany gets up and moves into the aisle; the man follows, shuffling past his wife to stand next to Brittany. Brittany squeezes past the woman and takes her new seat by the window.

Before she can get out a thank you, the woman asks, "Are you heading to New York?"

"That's the plan," she answers. "How about you?"

"Us, too," the man cuts in, followed by "We're going to see our granddaughter," from his wife.

Brittany smiles; they are some of the nicest people she has ever met.

* * *

Brittany parts ways with her company from the plane when they head for the baggage area. She exits the airport with no idea where to go (but she still isn't worried).

A taxi stops on the curb in front of her and she climbs in.

"Where to?" the driver asks.

"Somewhere nice," is her answer. The driver looks at her through the mirror and smiles before taking off.

"Somewhere nice" ends up being Madison square Park, which is, indeed, very nice (and very crowded).

Brittany pays the driver, receives "Have a nice day" in return, and then begins to wander about.

She loves the scene around her: the trees surrounding her, standing tall and steady in the light breeze. The people around her seem like more than all of Lima, Ohio as a whole; some are walking, some jogging, some sitting on benches and feeding the birds, and some simply relaxing on the grass.

And then she pauses, having spotted something—_someone_—that takes her breath away.

She's laughing, Brittany notices, so the guy across from her must have said something funny; she thinks it looks really good on her, and wishes she was close enough to hear the sound. Before the thought is even fully processed through her mind, she's moving again; her legs are taking her to the girl.

(It's her perfect day and she's going to do whatever she wants.)

Now she's standing there, smile on her face, in front of the two people sitting in the grass. The girl she's having trouble taking her eyes off of is wearing a loose gray shirt with sweatpants, and the guy across from her is wearing black jeans with a gray vest over a white long-sleeved shirt. She thinks they both look amazing.

Their silence upon her arrival surprises her. She isn't used to it, people pausing for her, seeing as when she has tried going up to a group any time before they just ignored her.

"Hi," the guy says, curious. "Can we help you?"

It takes her a moment, she glances over to catch the girls expression just before it fades, but then she speaks: "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I just wanted to say..." She trails off, looking to the girl again. "I just wanted to say that you are the most unimaginably beautiful girl I have ever seen."

While the guy lets out a surprised laugh, the girl sits, unmoving, and looks back at Brittany with wide eyes. Brittany stands there a moment longer and glances between the two once more before turning to continue her wandering. As she walks away, she notices how fast her heart is beating (but it feels sort of good).

"Hey, wait!"

Brittany turns back just in time to see the girl stand up fully. "Why—" She clears her throat, looking at Brittany nervously. "Why don't you join us?" Brittany smiles.

* * *

"So, what's your name?" the guy asks as Brittany settles into the grass.

"Brittany S. Pierce," she tells him.

"It's nice to meet you. I'm Kurt and the beautiful one here is Santana." _Santana_, Brittany thinks to herself, looking over at her. Santana rolls her eyes, but Brittany can tell she's trying her best to suppress a smile.

"Are you from around here?" Kurt questions, looking at Brittany with a curious grin.

"New York?" Brittany shakes her head. "Nope."

"Well then, Brittany, what brings you to New York?"

She shrugs. "It seems like a good place to have a good day."

"That it is," Kurt agrees.

Conversation flows surprisingly well between Brittany and Kurt, and half of what she says seems to amuse him. He brings Santana up here and there, but she hasn't said anything since asking Brittany to stay. And even though Brittany seldom takes her eyes from Santana, she is by no means ignoring Kurt—his inquisitiveness all but astounds her, seeing as normally nobody will give her the time of day—but the wonder that is Santana demands her attention.

"Alright, ladies," Kurt eventually says. "It's time for me to go."

"What?" Santana finally speaks. "But you don't have class today. Or work."

"Rachel has planned shopping," Kurt explains, standing up and moving to wipe the grass from his clothes. "I can't believe I let you convince me to sit in the grass nearly every day—I got an awful grass stain on my pants last week!"

"Oh, calm down fairy boy," Santana retorts. Kurt rolls his eyes and looks to Brittany.

"It was nice to have met you, Brittany," he says. "I'm sorry I have to rush off so soon."

"No, it's fine," Brittany assures. "I enjoyed talking to you and I hope you have fun with your friend."

"Oh, I'm sure I will," he laughs. "And_ I _hope you have fun with Santana." And then he takes off, leaving Brittany to watch Santana as she watches him go.

When Santana turns back to Brittany, she catches sight of her eyes and Santana immediately looks to her lap. Brittany sits, watching and waiting patiently. A short time later, Santana glances up and Brittany smiles.

Suddenly, she twists to lie in the grass next to Santana. Santana slowly looks over to find Brittany looking right back, still smiling; they're silent for a moment, observing one another.

"What?" Santana manages. Her voice is low, hesitant.

Brittany holds back a laugh and asks, "Are you going to talk to me now?"

"Sorry, I—" Santana shakes her head and laughs nervously; Brittany only smiles brighter.

Brittany says nothing as she admires Santana and lets her gathers herself; however, she does glide a hand across the grass leisurely until it reaches Santana. Carefully, she taps her fingers against Santana's leg. Santana promptly turns to meet her eyes; she gets the hint when Brittany shifts her eyes and gently lies back.

"Are you always this quiet?" Brittany questions.

"No," Santana answers. "Not at all. I don't... I don't know." She laughs again, playing with her hands. "Nobody's ever said anything like that to me."

Brittany shifts, sitting up a little, but Santana doesn't look her way. "Like what?"

"Like what you said." Her voice comes out low, only just enough for Brittany to hear. "About me... being beautiful."

"That can't be true," Brittany objects. Santana nods. "No one has ever told you how beautiful you are?" Brittany can't fathom it.

"I mean, kind of. But never like that; not like you."

"That's crazy." A pause. "You should be told every day, all the time—because, I mean, you are _so_ gorgeous." Brittany can see Santana swallow.

Brittany gazes over at her as she looks up to the sky and they let silence come over them again. Brittany settles back into the grass and asks, "Do you like watching the clouds or watching the stars better?"

"Uh... I don't know," Santana replies. When Brittany says nothing more, Santana speaks again: "Why are we lying in the grass?"

Her answer is a bit delayed, because Santana is finally looking at her. "Why not?" She shrugs against the grass and Santana laughs. The sound is even more perfect than how she imagined it would be.

"How long have you been friends with Kurt?"

"A long time," Santana replies. She takes a moment to think before she adds, "We've known each other since, like, middle school. He's a good friend, but don't tell him I said that." Brittany can't help but smile, pleased with herself for getting Santana talking.

"Your secret is safe with me," Brittany promises.

Santana gives a nod, a satisfied little smile tugging at her lips. "Good."

"Cute," Brittany mumbles, looking her over, but she doesn't think Santana hears so she moves on. "Is Rachel your friend, too?"

"God, no," Santana scoffs, but then looks to the sky and admits: "Okay, maybe." Brittany believes more than anything she has met the cutest person in the universe.

"Don't laugh!" Santana scolds, laughing. "You'd understand if you met her. I'm sure you have an annoying-ass hobbit friend somewhere, too." Brittany's smile falters for a moment, but quickly returns as Santana rambles on. "Well, sans the hobbit part, because, seriously, she's tiny." Santana bites her lip and looks at Brittany. "I'm rambling."

"Yes, you are," Brittany agrees.

"Sorry," Santana apologizes, shy again.

"No, keep going," Brittany insists. "Tell me more about your friends—or you. Tell me about you."

"What about me?"

"Whatever you want to share." Because really, she wants to know everything.

"I guess it's pretty obvious I live in New York," Santana starts, "but, uhm, I go to NYU. And the rest is pretty boring."

"You don't seem boring," Brittany says honestly. Santana looks away again and shrugs. "What else?"

"Well, I am friends with some of the gayest people ever."

"Kurt?"

"Yes, definitely. He's, like, queen of gay."

Brittany laughs. "And you?"

Santana peeks over before fully looking at Brittany again. "Enough about me," she decides. "Your turn."

"You're reflecting," Brittany accuses.

Santana looks at her for a second, then guesses, "Deflecting?"

"You're deflecting."

"I am not," Santana denies. Brittany rolls into Santana playfully, but lets it go.

"My turn?" she repeats. It doesn't sound nearly as appealing to her, but Santana nods. "There's not much to say about me." She wishes there was something, just so she could tell Santana, but she can't think of anything.

"That's not fair," Santana complains, beginning to sit up. "You have to tell me _something_." Brittany blurts out the only thing she can think of to prevent Santana from getting up. "Dancing?"

Brittany nods and confirms, "I like to dance."

"Okay," Santana accepts, reclining to the ground. "What else?"

"I'd rather learn more about you," Brittany confesses.

"No, come on," Santana insists, and then, "Why did you decide to come over to Kurt and I?"

"You," Brittany answers simply.

"Me?"

"Like I said: I saw you, and I wanted to let you know how beautiful you are." Santana bites her lip and glances away again. Brittany takes the chance to turn things back on Santana. "Why'd you ask me to join you?"

Santana turns to her, face scrunched up slightly. Her face softens as she looks over Brittany's face. "I couldn't just let you walk away." Brittany can't stop her ears from liking the words, her everything from liking Santana.

Brittany is used to silence, but never has it felt so wonderful in the company of someone else. She gently maneuvers her pinkie around Santana's and watches as she gazes back at her timidly.

"Would you hang out with me, Santana?" she wonders.

"Isn't that kinda what we're doing now?" Santana questions.

"Well yeah," Brittany admits. "But I meant if I get up and walk away, will you come with me?"

Santana looks at her and Brittany almost expects her to say no. (She wouldn't be surprised.)

"Yeah."

"Yeah?"

Santana sits up. "Yeah," she repeats. "Where do you want to go?" Brittany doesn't try to stop the wide smile spreading across her face as she sits up next to Santana.

"I don't know," Brittany laughs. "I've never been to New York before."

Santana playfully rolls her eyes and stands up, pulling Brittany with her. "Are you hungry?" Brittany nods. "Well then I say we eat."

"Lead the way," Brittany says, motioning forward, and Santana does.

* * *

They walk breezily as Santana leads Brittany away from their spot in the grass. Brittany doesn't know where Santana is taking her, but she doesn't ask, just follows. (She's starting to think she'd follow Santana anywhere.)

And then, just a few feet away, Brittany notices a small crowd as music invades her ears.

"Santana!" she exclaims, grabbing Santana's hand to stop her from walking any farther, eyes fixated on the blonde guy playing a guitar at the center of the crowd. Santana backtracks to Brittany's side, following her eyes to the guy playing the guitar. A second later, Brittany is dragging Santana closer; the guy with the guitar smiles at them as he plays. Brittany looks over to Santana, eyes bright with excitement, but then she notices Santana staring at the guitar guy's lips. She doesn't like it so much (and she thinks it's because she'd rather Santana be looking at her lips).

Santana looks over, and it must show Brittany's face, because she leans over and justifies, "His lips are _ginormous_." She laughs, because they are kind of big.

She looks from the guy with the guitar back to Santana, the music infecting her senses, and all but begs, "Dance with me, please?" Santana laughs, nervous, and agrees. Brittany beams at her, reaching for her other hand.

Brittany is beyond enthralled. She hardly ever gets to dance with anyone, let alone someone as amazing as Santana. It's happening, though, and she knows it's already the perfect day.

(Just a moment with Santana would have made her happy.)

Santana's laughing, and letting Brittany lead her all around the guy with the guitar, who seems even more enthusiastic than when she first saw him, and through the crowd. The seemingly small crowd is unexpectedly loud, so when Santana begins to hum, Brittany can scarcely hear it. The humming, on top of her smile, eggs Brittany on: she begins to sing along.

"_Hey there Delilah, I've got so much left to say"_

She leans in close, to hear Santana's humming, and gazes at her without looking away.

"_even more in love with me you'd fall..."_

And it's not long before she hears Santana begin to sing, too; she falters in her step, dazed by the sound. She smiles at her in awe, but Santana doesn't seem to notice. When Brittany catches sight of the guy with the guitar, though, he winks at her.

"_Oh, it's what you do to me..."_

* * *

The song comes to its end and the crowd claps and drops money into the guitar case on the ground before beginning to dissipate. Some give their compliments, to Brittany and Santana as well as the guy with the guitar. Brittany laughs at a shy Santana, who's leaning into her side.

"That was awesome," the guy with the guitar says as the crowd clears. "Thanks."

"That singing was definitely _not_ boring," Brittany tells Santana, who shrugs and looks away. (The dancing was also definitely not boring.)

The guy with the guitar glances up at them with a laugh. He pauses in putting his guitar away and says, "You can have some of it, if you want," gesturing to the money left in the case.

"Oh, no," Santana says, shaking her head. "We couldn't," Brittany finishes.

He nods and says, "I'm Sam, by the way."

"Brittany," Brittany says. "And this is Santana."

"It's nice to meet you both," he says. "You were great."

"So were you," Santana returns. Sam secures the guitar in its case before looking back up.

"We were about to get something to eat, if you want to come," Brittany offers.

Sam smiles. "I'd love to."

* * *

Brittany insists on paying for lunch; when Santana and Sam finally agree, the guy behind the window snatches the money from Brittany and shoves their food forward. The place is so crowded with people that there are no available tables, so they end up back in the grass.

"So are you two from around here?" Sam asks before taking a bite of his burger.

Santana's mouth is full of vanilla shake, so Brittany answers, "She is, I'm not," before taking a sip of her own.

Sam nods. "What are you doing in New York?"

"This," Brittany replies.

"This?" Sam says, glancing to Santana.

"She's here to do whatever," Santana clarifies, sharing a smile with Brittany as she nods. "Slow down, Trouty Mouth; foods not going anywhere," she adds.

Brittany laughs and Sam swallows his food, looking at Santana. "Nice," he says slowly. "So how long have you two known each other?"

* * *

They end up back on their feet soon after they finish their meals, making their way down the walkway.

"That was amazing," Sam raves. "I can't believe I've never been there before."

"So you've said," Santana laughs.

"You've introduced us to a whole new world of food!" Brittany proclaims.

Santana laughs again, shaking her head. "Are you sure you two have never met before?"

"Are you sure _you two _have never—" Sam starts, but then Brittany all but yells "Oh!" and runs forward. She stops in front of a man with a cart, and before Sam and Santana can catch up, she's running back.

She halts in front of Santana, smiling. Santana opens her mouth in question, but then Brittany is presenting her a rose and her mouth snaps shut.

"For you," Brittany says when she doesn't take it.

Sam leans over and whispers, "I think she wants you to take it." Santana elbows him before slipping the rose from Brittany's fingers.

Brittany falls back to Santana's side and they resume their walk, slower. Her smile grows when she catches Santana trying to discreetly smell the rose.

After walking just a few feet farther, they come across an artist drawing people. Brittany and Sam rush over; Santana follows them, but refuses being drawn—and then Brittany pouts.

They take their positions in front of the man, Brittany and Santana sitting side by side with Sam standing behind them. Brittany is certain they only need two, but Santana is adamant that they need three so each of them can have one. They sit around for two more drawings, ending with Brittany planting a kiss on Santana's cheek. (Brittany thinks she sees Santana blush.)

Brittany pays for all three, giving Sam the one that they are drawn as superheros, Santana the last one, and keeping the first for herself even though she plans to give that one to Santana, too. (She won't need it, but maybe it will help Santana remember her.)

(She thinks, for a moment, about what Santana would think of her decision.)

They spend another few hours together, asking more questions and spontaneously performing once for a small crowd, and then Sam makes his departure—but not before he awkwardly asks for their numbers. Santana writes hers in pen on his arm.

When he's out of sight, Santana asks, "What do you want to do now?"

They walk a few more steps before Brittany answers. "I want to take you to dinner."

Santana stops. "What?"

Brittany betrays herself, getting slightly nervous as she speaks again. "I really want to take you. To dinner. Like, on a date..."

"I can't believe you got me to run around with you in _sweats_ all day," Santana says, "but there is no way I'm going to dinner like this."

(She should have expected this.)

"Oh."

"No," Santana says hastily. "No, I mean yes. My answer is yes. But you have to let me change first."

(Really?)

Brittany smiles exuberantly. "Okay."

(Really?)

* * *

Santana hails a cab for them; they climb in and Santana tells the driver where to go.

When she notices Brittany staring at her, she asks, "What?"

"You really don't have to change, you know," Brittany says. She loves the way Santana looks right now.

"Yes, I do," Santana argues. Brittany bites her lip and shakes her head.

She focuses back on Santana, who is still looking her way, and glances to her lips. She drags her eyes away, but there's something about the way Santana's looking at her, and it's her perfect day, so she goes for it.

She sighs as her lips meet Santana's.

* * *

Santana unlocks the door and she and Brittany enter her apartment. Brittany closes the door slowly, taking in her surroundings. She's in Santana's house. Santana who she just kissed. Santana who she's taking on a date.

(Her perfect day is going perfectly.)

"This is nice," Brittany compliments.

Santana smiles. "I'll give you a tour if you want, after I get changed."

"Awesome."

Brittany follows Santana into the kitchen. Without a word, Santana opens a cabinet, pulls out a glass, and walks to the sink; she fills the glass with water, sets it next to the sink, and gently drops her rose in. Brittany smiles as they soundlessly move to a bedroom.

"Give me a minute, okay?" Santana says. Brittany nods and watches Santana disappear into the bathroom.

She gazes around the room she assumes is Santana's. There is a slightly messy desk and cluttered bookshelf to the right; a window with a blue and red blanket hanging over it, causing the room to be slightly darker than the rest of the house, on the far wall; and the bed next to it on the left. The bed sits in the corner instead of the middle like she expected it to be and it's smaller than hers at home, but it looks a thousand times cozier. And on top of the white comforter, just below the pillows, is the fluffiest blanket Brittany has ever seen.

She glides over to the bed and becomes even more mesmerized when her fingers sink into the black and white strands.

"Brittany," Santana calls from the bathroom. It's the first time Santana's said her name. (It sounds so good, the way she says it.)

Brittany looks over; the door is cracked open. "I... can you bring me my pants from the dresser?"

Brittany tries not to think of a pants-less Santana as she locates the dresser, grabs the pants and moves toward the bathroom. She can barely make out Santana's shy smile as she holds out the pants, but then Santana releases the door to take the pants and the door falls open, leaving her exposed in only an open button-up shirt and black lace underwear.

"Hmm," Brittany hums, gawking. "Hey."

"Hi," Santana squeaks out, eyes fixed on Brittany's.

"What're you..." Brittany's eyes trail up to Santana's as she licks her lips. "What're you wearing?"

"I thought you might like it," Santana says, a little steadier. "Though I planned on being fully dressed..."

"I like it," Brittany admits, because she totally does. (Santana's skin looks so good.)

"I suppose I shouldn't wear it to dinner, though." All Brittany can do is shake her head, and look at Santana's lips, because she really wants to kiss her again.

Santana lifts up on her tiptoes; Brittany waits patiently as she slowly leans in.

A breath away, Santana drops the pants, grasps Brittany's shirt, and asks, "Can I kiss you?"

Brittany responds by leaning in the rest of the way. Santana takes in a sharp breath as their lips press together and Brittany grips onto Santana's hips to steady her.

Santana shuffles closer, her hands going to the back of Brittany's neck while Brittany slips her hands past the material of Santana's shirt. Brittany takes in her warmth and parts her lips to allow Santana to take control; Santana's tongue slides in her mouth, and she kisses harder.

Santana moans and Brittany can't stop her wandering hands, up Santana's sides, over her back. Then, suddenly, Santana's breaking the kiss and pushing her backwards.

Brittany falls to the bed, and there's a pause; Santana stands in front of her, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. Brittany tugs on her shirt, pulling her down and reconnecting their lips.

"Date," she says into Santana's lips.

Santana nods, agreeing, but continues to kiss her.

They break apart breathing hard, and part of Brittany just wants to keep kissing her. Santana drops her head to Brittany's neck, hands tight on her waist, and they sit.

Brittany nudges Santana and gives her a quick kiss, followed by a stroke down her back, and scoots back to lie on the bed.

Santana follows and curls into Brittany's side, arm resting against her ribs. Brittany shifts her arm over and Santana rests her head on Brittany's shoulder. Brittany notices how Santana's breath slows, and she almost wants to let her sleep, but they have a date.

(It's her perfect day and she needs her perfect date.)

"I'm still taking you to dinner," she says.

Santana lets out a sleepy laugh. "Of course."

Brittany kisses Santana's hair, closes her eyes. "Don't fall asleep on me, okay?"

"No, I won't," Santana mumbles.

* * *

Santana falls asleep.

Brittany can tell right away when she does. It's only for twenty minutes, and then Santana's head jerks up.

Brittany just smiles and whispers, "Hey," when Santana meets her eyes. Santana tries to sit up but Brittany holds her in place.

"I'm so sorry," Santana says, biting her lip. "How long was I asleep?"

"Just a few minutes," Brittany tells her.

Santana moves to sit up again and this time Brittany lets her. "We can get ready and go now." She moves to get off the bed. "Do you know where you wanna go?"

Brittany watches her as she walks out of sight, into the bathroom. "I don't know any restaurants here," she says.

"Okay, well...," Santana starts, "I have the perfect place."

* * *

Santana takes Brittany to a fancy Italian restaurant that she has no idea the name of.

"I've only been here once," Santana admits when the server leaves. "But they had really good food and I thought you might like it."

"It's nice," Brittany says.

Santana smiles, pleased. "What do you think of New York so far?"

"There's some pretty amazing people here," Brittany says.

"You liked Sam that much, huh?" Santana teases.

"Totally," Brittany agrees. "Almost as much as I like you."

(Santana looks shy again.)

The server returns long enough to break their conversation, refills their drinks and then leaves.

"Do you regret it?" Brittany questions.

Santana looks at her, her brows beginning to knit together ever so slightly. "Regret what?"

"What happened at your place," Brittany says. "Or almost happened. And spending the day with me."

(This could ruin everything.)

"What?" Santana looks shocked. "No, of course not. Do... do you?"

"Definitely not," she says.

* * *

By the end of the date, when they're walking out the door, Brittany is even happier.

(It's her perfect day, it only makes sense to spend it with the perfect person.)

It's dark, and Brittany has no idea what time it is—she hasn't looked at her phone since she met Santana—but they just walk. She doesn't care as long as she gets more time with Santana.

The backs of their hands keep brushing, and, somehow, their fingers end up laced together. Brittany looks over at Santana and squeezes her hand.

Brittany doesn't know how long they have been walking, but before she knows it they are ambling up a small hill. There is a lone tree at the top and Santana guides them over; she settles on the ground against the tree and Brittany glances to where the hill begins to slope down, regarding the city lights in the distance, before sitting with her. Santana leans into Brittany's side, resting her head against her shoulder. Brittany is certain there is no person as amazing as Santana.

"How long are you staying in New York?" Santana asks.

Brittany's not sure how to answer, so she says, "As long as I want."

"Really?" Santana inquires, slow and quiet.

"Yeah," she whispers back.

They fall silent as Brittany runs her fingers through Santana's hair.

Santana's weight becomes heavier against Brittany, her breathing lighter. Brittany wiggles her phone from her pocket, turns it on, checks the time: midnight. She hadn't thought her day would last this long—not that she did all that much planning—but she doesn't mind.

"Santana," she says, quiet.

"Mmm?" Santana humms. Brittany smiles and presses a kiss to her hair.

"Thank you," she whispers.

"F'what?"

"Today, it was perfect." (Her perfect day.)

"Thank you," Santana murmurs back. Brittany kisses her hair again.

Brittany watches her phone, the minutes ticking by. The screen goes dark, and she realizes she's starting to get a second perfect day.

(This is not what she planned, but she wants every extra moment with Santana she can get.)

She checks her phone again: 12:30. She slips it back into her pocket and waits, for just a moment longer, before trying to pull away from Santana. She's almost to her feet when Santana's eyes flutter open.

"Where'reyu goin'?" she mumbles.

Brittany pauses, kneeling in front of Santana. "I gotta get going."

"Why?" Santana sits up, clears her throat. "I mean, right now?"

Brittany nods.

"You can't stay, for a little while?" Brittany searches her face. (She has to go.)

Brittany stands up. (Santana seems more awake now.)

"Don't go," Santana says.

Brittany looks at her closely. She notices her eyes more than she has all day—she recognizes that sense of comfort she gets from another pair of dark eyes. But there's no way that Santana knows. She can't; Brittany hasn't said anything about it and nobody else knows. It's hard for her to take in. She loved being around Santana, the way she made her feel all day, but it was her perfect day so it _had _to be perfect.

But now?

(She's not sure what this means.)

"Brittany?" (She loves the way Santana says her name.)

"Okay." Her voice is barely audible, because she feels like something has lodged itself in her throat.

She just crouches a second longer, fixed in her position, and then settles back into the spot next to Santana.

Santana watches her for a moment, then she leans over and, like a magnet, Brittany moves closer, too; Santana kisses her gently. Santana smiles softly before cuddling back into her side, slipping her pinky around Brittany's.

(She lets out a shaky breath.)

* * *

The sun is beginning to rise, the sky barely lit with blue, and the air chilly. The sounds are dull, only just building up for the coming day, and Brittany is slowly waking. She doesn't open her eyes right away, she just feels: the goosebumps forming on her arms from the cool air, the bark pressed into her back, the warm breath against her neck, and the weight pushing into her.

It all feels so nice—even if the tree holding her up is starting to get slightly uncomfortable—and when she realizes the source of the warmth blowing into her skin and the heaviness against her, the sensations become a thousand times greater.

She opens her eyes and blinks once, twice, then looks down at Santana. She smiles, and she tightens her arms around Santana.

Her first thought of the day is _I've made it into heaven_.


	2. Tell Me More

Back in Santana's bed, Brittany can feel everything.

She can feel her confidence. She can feel the shock from meeting the people on the plane. She can feel the surprising ease from talking to Kurt and looking at Santana. She can feel the way her ears rejoiced the first time she heard Santana's voice, how they melted at her shyness and shook from her laugh. She can feel the way her skin prickled at the tiniest touch to her. She can feel the excitement from talking to her. She can feel the bliss from singing and dancing with her, then meeting Sam. She can feel the giddiness from Santana accepting her rose and watching her put it in a glass like it was something special. She can feel the jolt in her heart and spark to her lips when she kissed Santana. She can feel the way her mouth went dry at the sight of Santana, the way she craved her so close, the way her senses heightened and she almost began to tremble at the feel of Santana against her. She can feel the way she started to get nervous on her first date and the way Santana made her calm without knowing it.

(She can feel the confusion and pleasant surprise from so many people treating her like an actual person.)

But the bad twists in and she can also feel how she got so sad when she thought about her family finding out—how she pushed those thoughts away and knew that it was the right thing to do. How so many nights she would lose herself in dancing just to forget everything else. How she was so certain, and then her plan began to crumble. How Santana—with no clue about what was going through her mind—got her heart beating and made her stay.

How she doesn't know what to do now.

And even though she held herself together as her heart stopped and then picked up speed—because she couldn't cry in front of Santana, not when she looked at her so sincerely and kissed her so intimately—she can't now. She feels the tears trickle down her cheeks and all she can do is cry into Santana's back.

(She wants to move away but she fears it will only get worse if she's not right where she is, pressed against Santana.)

"Britt?"

(She thought she was quiet.)

She tries to keep Santana in place but she wriggles her way around.

"Hey," Santana coos, laying a hand on her cheek. "Shh." Brittany leans into the touch and clenches her eyes shut. Santana slips her hand into Brittany's hair, pulling her close and cradling her head. Brittany burrows into her warmth as much as she can while Santana wraps her free arm around her, holding her close; Brittany's sobs continue into Santana's neck.

Santana scratches her nails against Brittany gently, massaging her scalp, and, in a whisper, she begins to sing:

"_A la nanita nana, nanita ella, nanita ella,_

_mi niña tiene sueño, bendito sea, bendito sea..."_

* * *

Brittany wakes up attached to something nowhere near warm enough to be Santana; she squeezes the pillow tighter before opening her eyes. She lifts herself up and twists to look at the door. It's closed and there's no Santana in sight.

She turns the rest of the way until she's sitting with her legs hanging down from the bed. The room is still dark, but there's a ray of light peeking through the cover trying to block it out, so she knows it's morning. Her head is stuffy, like it usually is after she's cried, but she lifts the blanket from Santana's bed and makes her way to the door anyhow.

* * *

It's a lot easier finding Santana than she thought it'd be. All she has to do is wander back into the kitchen, and there she is: standing in front of the counter.

"What're you making there?" Brittany asks, moving closer.

Santana starts and spins around. Brittany laughs when Santana's unsettled eyes meet hers.

"Brittany," Santana breathes. "Hi."

"Hi," Brittany says, and then waits while Santana looks her over. "What?" She pulls the blanket tighter around her shoulders. "I like this blanket..."

"I was making you breakfast," Santana reveals, smiling and waving to the equipment behind her.

"It smells good," Brittany says.

Santana turns back to her task. "I wasn't sure what you liked, so I took a guess and decided to make waffles." She glances over her shoulder. "Is that okay?"

"That's perfect."

"Why don't you go sit on the couch," Santana suggests. "I'll bring breakfast to you."

"Okay," Brittany agrees. "Can I get something to drink first?"

"Yeah, sure. Do you want me to get it for you?"

"Nope, I got it," she says, already moving toward the fridge. Just as her hand grips the handle, she notices a note stuck to the right of it; there's two lines, each with different handwriting.

_A little warning when you bring some girl home would be nice_

_Seconded (but it's about time!)_

"Does someone live here with you?"

"Huh?" Santana says, looking over at her. "Oh." She moves next to Brittany and lets her eyes scan over the note before reaching for the pen attached to a nearby magnet. "Yeah, my friends Quinn and Mercedes share the place with me."

"Cool," Brittany says, watching Santana write. "You're a lefty?"

Santana laughs as she returns the pen. "Yeah." She throws Brittany quick a glance before returning to the other side of the kitchen.

"That's awesome," Brittany says. Her eyes linger on Santana a moment longer and then she tugs at the handle. "Do you have orange juice?" she asks, then "You do!" as soon as she looks in the fridge.

She's just about to ask for a glass when she sees one already waiting for her on the kitchen island. She pours herself a glass of orange juice and by the time she has the bottle back in the fridge, Santana is moving waffles into plates.

"Those look yummy," Brittany says.

"You're supposed to be on the couch," Santana reminds her.

"But you're done now," Brittany points out. "I wanna help."

"Couch."

"But—"

"Please?"

"Okay," Brittany surrenders, and, with that, picks up her glass and goes into the living room.

She settles into the right corner of the couch with the blanket still wrapped around her and sips at her orange juice. It only takes a few minutes for Santana to join her, and when she does she has two plates of waffles with whipped cream and strawberries on top.

"I figured you were the all-out-waffles type of girl," Santana says as she puts the plates if front of Brittany on the coffee table.

"You were right," Brittany confirms, swiftly sitting up and replacing her nearly empty glass of orange juice with a full plate of delicious looking waffles. Santana is careful as she takes a seat next to her.

"Thank you," Brittany says, trying to cover her full mouth as she speaks.

"You're not supposed to talk with your mouth full," Santana teases.

"Sorry," Brittany says, fighting back a smile.

Santana smiles down at her plate. "I hope you like them, I haven't made any in a while."

Brittany makes sure she has no food in her mouth before asking, "Does that make me special, then?"

"I'd say so," Santana says. Brittany smiles big and Santana lets out a breathy laugh.

They're silent through the rest of the meal, but Brittany watches Santana the whole way through; every time Santana looks over and sees Brittany still watching her, she gives a timorous smile.

Brittany finishes first and puts her plate on the coffee table, taking her glass back. She settles back into her corner, pulls the blanket up to her shoulders, and lifts the glass to her lips.

"So are they home?" she asks.

Santana puts her fork down and leans into the couch. She considers Brittany for a moment before answering. "Quinn's over at Berry's house half the time, so I doubt she's here... and Mercedes is probably at work."

"Berry?"

"Sorry, that's Rachel's last name."

"Oh, so is she friends with Kurt, too?"

"Quinn? Yeah; we all kind of ended up here after high school so we just stuck together."

"It seems like you have a pretty cool group of friends," Brittany says.

(She's almost surprised that she's not sad she doesn't.)

Santana shrugs. "So... why don't you go take a shower and I'll clean up?"

"You don't want me to help?"

"You're my guest. No cleaning."

"Fine," Brittany agrees, poking her tongue out as she stands.

* * *

"Santana?" Brittany calls, repeating her steps from earlier in the morning.

She's not in the kitchen, but Brittany can faintly hear her voice. She follows the sound to the living room, where Santana sits with the TV on mute and phone to her ear.

"I'm sorry I didn't call earlier... yeah... I really can't... thank you... goodbye."

Brittany waits until Santana's phone is on the table before asking, "Can I borrow some clothes?"

(She's curious about the call, but it's not her business.)

Santana stands and opens her mouth, ready to speak, only to stop in front of Brittany with wide eyes. Brittany gives an unsure smile.

"Is—is this payback?"

Brittany tilts her head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"Because, uh..." Santana's eyes sweep down. "Last night when I—" She swallows. "When you saw me."

Brittany runs her hand down her towel, suddenly remembering it is the only thing covering her. She laughs and assures Santana, "It's not payback."

"Right," Santana says, clearing her throat. "Clothes."

"If you don't mind," Brittany adds. "I can just put my clothes from yesterday back on."

With a smile and shake of her head Santana says, "No, I don't mind. I put your clothes in the wash anyway."

"Thanks," Brittany says, reaching out to catch Santana's pinky as she leads her back to the bedroom.

(She wonders if the contact feels as good to Santana.)

* * *

"You can get dressed in here," Santana says as she hands Brittany a pair of blue basketball shorts ("Oo, can I wear those?") and a white tank top. "I'll go get us some drinks."

When the bedroom door closes behind Santana, Brittany drops her towel and dresses herself in the borrowed clothes. She folds the towel and puts it back in the bathroom before making herself comfortable on the bed.

(She's not sure if she likes Santana's bed because it's Santana's or because it's so comfy.)

She tugs the blanket from where she left it bunched up against the wall and adjusts it over herself.

(Maybe it's both.)

* * *

The low creak of a door opening jolts Brittany from her dazed almost-sleep. She glances at the door.

"What's that smile for?" Santana asks.

"You," Brittany says.

"Me?" Santana laughs, tangling her left hand with the other. "How do I deserve that?"

"You're here," Brittany says, navigating her hand out from under the blanket to tug at Santana's wrist. Santana allows herself to fall and lands with her face in front of Brittany's; her legs curl at the edge of the bed so she doesn't fall off.

Brittany inches forward and connects her lips to Santana's chin before whispering, "Plus I smell like you now."

(She really enjoys the way Santana smells, how she smells the same.)

"You do," Santana agrees, her tone almost matching Brittany's. She leans her head back and, as her eyes roam over Brittany's face, Brittany notices something in her eyes change.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

Santana's eyes revert to normal. She licks her lips and takes a breath. "Do you want to talk about what happened last night?"

Rather than giving an answer, Brittany tilts her lips until they brush against Santana's. Santana returns a handful of delicate little kisses before closing her eyes and resting her forehead against Brittany's chin.

"You wanna hear something cool?" Brittany whispers.

Santana opens her eyes and nods slowly; Brittany shoots up, crossing her legs to sit Indian style.

"Okay," Brittany says, lifting her hands and focusing on her fingers as Santana moves to mirror her position. She looks up to find Santana watching her and smiles. "Put your fingers like this." Santana lifts her hands and arranges them to match Brittany's, with her middle fingers back to back and all others tip to tip. She looks back to Brittany for more instructions.

Brittany's eyes fall back to her fingers and she says, "We'll start with the thumbs. They represent your parents. Now, if try to separate them," she separates her thumbs and glances up to make sure Santana does the same, "they will because you don't live with your parents forever." She puts her thumbs back together; Santana does the same. "Well, most people don't," she adds.

"Next we move to the index fingers. They represent your siblings; they separate because they leave and live their own lives. Then there's the pinky's, which represent your children. They separate, too, because your kids grow up and move out. Just like you did." Santana grins, but doesn't interrupt. "And finally, we have the ring fingers: they represent your life partner." She looks up Santana, but her eyes are focused on her hands. "Try to separate them." She can't help but giggle at Santana's concentration. "They don't separate because you're meant to spend your whole life with them."

"Huh," Santana lets out, finally looking up and dropping her hands to her lap.

"And that is the Chinese explanation for the ring finger," Brittany explains.

"What's the middle finger?"

"Yourself."

"I've never heard that."

"I know some things," Brittany shrugs.

"I think you know a lot of things," Santana says.

(Brittany's never heard something like that from someone that wasn't her mom, dad or sister.)

(They had to because they're family.)

(Santana didn't.)

Brittany reaches out for Santana and brings her in for a kiss.

When she pulls back, Santana's wears a soft smile with her eyes closed. Brittany slides her hand away from Santana and sinks back into the bed. Santana turns her head a little and opens her eyes to gazes down at Brittany. A moment later she lies down next to her.

"You are so beautiful," Brittany murmurs. She doesn't know where it comes from, but the more she looks at Santana, the more she can't stand it.

(From the way Santana smiles, she thinks maybe she really should tell her every day.)

Brittany struggles to pull the blanket from where it's trapped around her waist and throws it over both of them. She shuffles a little closer so the blanket falls over her back; it's not meant for two people.

(Will there be more time to spend with Santana? More days to tell her how beautiful she is?)

"Do you have plans for today?" she asks.

"None," Santana answers.

"Well then how about we play a question game?"

Santana smirks. "I think I'm up for some questions. And getting some answers."

"Awesome," Brittany says. "We each ask a question, and then we each tell something and then repeat."

Santana shifts so her arm is under her head and drops her hand above Brittany's head, where her fingers find Brittany's hair. "Okay, you first."

"You said you go to NYU," Brittany states, and Santana nods in confirmation. "What are you there for?"

"I want to be a doctor, like my dad."

"Your dad's a doctor?" Brittany asks.

"It's my turn," Santana says.

"Sorry."

"He is, though," Santana says. Then, "Is this okay?" but her fingers don't stop running through Brittany's hair.

(She finds it cute that Santana feels the need to ask.)

"Yeah. And that counts as your question."

"What? No it doesn't!"

"It was a question, it counts."

"Britt!"

"Fine," Brittany agrees. "It won't count if..."

"If?"

Brittany smiles playfully. "If you kiss me."

Santana moves her free hand to Brittany's cheek and leans in for a kiss.

"It doesn't count," Brittany decides when she pulls away.

"Dork," Santana mumbles. "So, what about you?"

"I'm not in college." This is the first time Brittany's thought about it. She knows it doesn't explain what she needs it to, so she meets Santana's eyes and continues, "But I promise I'm not some little high school kid."

Santana's face scrunches up slightly. "You're in high school?"

"You're not mad, are you?" Brittany worries. "I'm eighteen."

"No, Britt, I'm not mad," Santana says, smiling. "I just... wasn't expecting that."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I didn't think about it before."

"Me neither," Santana laughs. "Whose turn is it now?"

"Uh, mine?" Brittany guesses.

"Shoot," Santana says.

"Shoot what?"

Santana narrows her eyes. "Whatever it is you're going to tell me."

"That's terribly rude, Santana."

"Just go!" Santana laughs, pushing at Brittany with her free hand.

Brittany traps Santana's hand against her stomach and grins. "I live in Ohio."

"Really?"

"Shh... you're gonna confuse me."

Santana grins, but, "I was mad at Kurt when he left, but I'm glad he did."

"How come you didn't talk to me at first?"

"I couldn't think of anything to say." Santana tugs at her hand. "What would you have done if I said no when you asked me to hang out?"

"I would've dragged you with me so we could meet Sam and you could seduce me."

Santana gasps. "I didn't seduce you!"

Brittany almost feels bad for how profusely Santana is blushing, but she finds it awfully cute.

"I like what happened."

Santana tugs at her hand weakly. "I can't believe I met you only yesterday; it feels like I've known you so much longer."

Brittany squeezes Santana's hand and releases her grip, but neither of them move their hands.

"What's your last name?"

"Lopez," Santana says, and before she can ask her question, a loud chirp fills the room.

"That's my phone," Brittany says.

Santana sits up and reaches over Brittany for something on her nightstand. She lies back down and hands Brittany her phone. "Sorry, I forgot about it after I took it out of your pants."

Brittany just smiles and lets her know it's okay while she looks at her phone. Her stomach knots when she sees all the missed calls and texts from her mom.

_dinner at breadstix 2night britt_

_leftovers at home. dont stay out 2 late_

_starting 2 get worried. where r u?_

"Brittany?"

Brittany's head snaps up to a worried looking Santana. "Oh, uh... my mom."

"Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, but I better call."

Santana nods. "Okay, well, I'll go check on your clothes."

Brittany frowns at her phone as Santana closes the door behind her. Her finger hovers over the green button for a moment before she calls.

"Brittany?" her mom answers.

"Hey," Brittany says.

"Are you okay? Why haven't you been home?"

"I'm good, Mom. I've just been..."

The note.

"Have you looked in the pantry?"

There's a pause, but then her mom says, "No, was I supposed to?"

"I just remembered I left my envelope in there. Can you put it in my room for me?"

Brittany hears her mom shuffling, walking, opening the pantry door. She's found it and Brittany holds her breath. "Okay, I got it."

"Thanks," she says.

"Britt?"

"Yeah?"

"Come home soon, okay?"

"I will. I'll talk to you later."

She hangs up the phone.

She looks at the phone, her hands, the bed.

She puts her phone back on Santana's nightstand.

* * *

"Hey," Brittany says when she finally finds Santana in a little room with a washer and dryer.

"Hey," Santana says back. They share a smile. "I just put your clothes in the dryer."

"Thanks." Brittany takes a few steps closer. She stops an inch away from her, her eyes flickering between Santana's.

(She's starting to feel sad all of the sudden.)

She contemplates asking first, but then just takes the step forward to wrap herself around Santana.

Santana is quick to return the hug, but it takes her a moment to ask, "Did something happen?"

"I have to go home," Brittany says into her neck.

Santana gives her a squeeze. "Let's go to the living room."

* * *

Santana sits next to her on the couch and Brittany turns to throw her legs over Santana's lap. Santana stares down at Brittany's legs briefly before resting her hands on them and turning to Brittany.

"Why did you tell me you were here for as long as you wanted?" Santana asks.

Brittany realizes she lied to Santana, and it makes her feel horrible; but she can't tell her why without telling her everything. "I don't know."

(_Because I didn't want to leave you, Santana._)

(_Because even though I knew what I had to do, I wanted to stay with you. And it confused me, Santana._)

Brittany leans into the back of the couch and watches Santana's hands; they brush against her legs as she fiddles with them.

"So what happens now?"

Brittany scoots closer to Santana and pulls her right arm into her lap. Her hand strokes up Santana's arm and her eyes drift up to meet brown ones. "Now we spend as much time together as we can, and then I try to get home."

Santana starts to nod. "Wait, try?"

Brittany trails her fingers down to Santana's hand. "I don't know if I have enough money for another plane ticket."

"Oh," Santana says, her face scrunching up. "I'll help you." She's sliding out from under Brittany's legs and calling out "Be right back!" before Brittany can get another word out.

Santana comes back speed-walking with a laptop in her arms. She turns it on as soon as she's back on the couch and Brittany shuffles to her side. "What are we doing?" she asks.

Santana smiles at her. "I am going to help you find a plane ticket." She clicks on the Chrome icon and goes to Google before asking, "Okay, how much money do you have?"

"I'll have to check," Brittany says, standing up. "Where's my wallet?"

"I think I put it on my nightstand with your phone."

Brittany runs to Santana's room, finds her wallet right where Santana said it would be, grabs it, and runs back to the living room. She plops back onto the couch and pulls all the money out of her wallet.

She counts it quickly—too quickly, causing her to have to recount—and opens her mouth to tell Santana. But then she sees what's on Santana's face.

"So—Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You're wearing glasses."

Santana looks embarrassed, like she didn't know, and starts to take them off.

"No!" Brittany says. "Leave them on, you look good." Santana lowers her hand and Brittany takes it in hers while resting her head on Santana's shoulder. "I have 296 dollars left."

Santana clears her throat. "I googled some sites; we should be able to find you something."

It only takes Santana about five minutes to find Brittany a ticket for $283.

Brittany lifts her head and presses a kiss to Santana's cheek. "Thank you."

* * *

"Do you have everything?" Santana asks, looking around her room.

"Yeah," Brittany says. "I didn't really bring anything."

"I know," Santana mumbles, looking at her feet, "but..."

"But what?"

Santana turns around and takes the folded blanket from her bed. "I want you to take this."

"I can't take your blanket," Brittany objects.

"But I know how much you like it," Santana says. "So I want you to take it."

"You're sweet," Brittany says, accepting the blanket.

Santana laughs. "Okay, let's go."

* * *

They arrive at the airport with half an hour to spare, but Santana knows it will take a while to get through security, so they immediately go to get Brittany's ticket and then head off to find the security line. Santana watches the time, but they don't rush.

They join the line, Brittany links their pinky's, and they wait in silence.

With every step closer, Brittany's heart beats faster. Santana, who still doesn't know the whole reason as to why Brittany was in New York, can't go past the escalators, and Brittany doesn't know when she'll see her again.

There's only five people separating her from the front of the line when she turns to Santana and starts talking. "Yesterday was the best day of my life." Santana looks surprised and Brittany takes a breath. "And I intended it to be. Because I made this promise to myself, y'know, that it'd be the the most perfect day ever. But that's the thing: i-it was supposed to be the last. A-and I didn't come here to be saved o-or anything, I just—"

She barely registers the hands on her shoulders, and then Santana is shushing her with her lips.

"Slow down," Santana says, just above a whisper. Brittany stares at her, her heart beating wildly in her chest. "What are you talking about? Supposed to be the last?" Santana looks so confused, so concerned, and Brittany suddenly has the urge to cry.

There's only one person in front of them now; Santana glances at the clock and swallows.

"Promise me we'll talk about this tomorrow, okay?" Santana says, and there's something in her voice that lets Brittany know she won't be going anywhere if she doesn't.

Brittany nods furiously, and then takes to stepping to the front of the line when she catches the man behind the podium looking at her expectantly. Before she can take more than a step, however, Santana is grabbing her by the elbow and tugging her back.

"I don't have your number," she rushes out. The man clears his throat and Brittany turns to hand over her ticket and I.D. before pulling her phone out and passing it to Santana with shaky hands.

"Text me when you get home," Santana says, handing back the phone. Brittany has no words; she simply grabs Santana by the back of the neck and leans down for a kiss. Santana's hands find Brittany's shirt and she kisses back, hard.

"Ma'am," the man behind the podium says.

Brittany reluctantly pulls away. Santana looks up at her, hesitant to let her go, and Brittany kisses her goodbye.

She takes her things from the man and steps onto the escalator. Her eyes are quick to find Santana when she turns around and she watches her move out of the line; they wave when she gets to the top.

Brittany makes it to her gate just in time to load the plane.

* * *

Brittany walks through the front door of her house and something feels different. Home, she always thought, was something more than just a place you live; and she always thought it was here. But that relief does not wash over her, that _feeling_ is not there.

At the sight of her mom, though, there is something. Not _home_, not what she really needs, but something. Her mom's arms wrap around her and she feels love; she hugs back, and it ends too soon.

She knows the hug is her greeting, the _welcome home_, because the next thing that comes is her mom telling her not to forget she has school in the morning, not to stay up too late, and then she's walking away.

Her legs stay still for a moment, she breathes in the familiar smell of her house, and then the desire to text Santana is back. Her feet start moving at the same time her hand reaches for her phone.

She reaches the first step and starts looking through her contacts; she scrolls through a second time when she doesn't find Santana's name, and then she frowns. There's no notes left, nothing in her recently called, but she finds her smile when there's an unknown number in her text log.

There's one text from her to the number: _Text me_

She sends another: _I'm home_

Before she can blink, there's a reply: _Great! How was the flight?_

Lord Tubbington is on her bed, curled up on her pillow like he's been there all day.

"Hey, buddy," she whispers as she closes her door.

_Good, but i didnt get the window seat this time :/_

There's an envelope on her desk, _her _envelope; she stares at it, grateful she decided not to write _Mom_ across the front, until her phone vibrates in her hand.

_I knew it! I should have gone with you. Whose ass do I have to beat?_

She smiles at Santana's words and reads over them again and again, as if she reads them enough Santana will appear. It doesn't work, and before she can think better of it—

_I miss you already_

Lord T's eyes are still on her when she glances his way, and she wonders if her mom has fed him since she's been away; it's always been her job, and she's always taken care of him. But he didn't meow at the first sight of her, and he hasn't moved.

(She knows he's surprised to see her back.)

She checks her phone, in case she missed the sound, but there's no text. She takes the envelope and sits next to Lord T. It's still sealed, for the most part, but there's a tear on the left corner—her mom started to open it, then stopped. She flattens it with her thumb a few times before pulling at the drawer of her nightstand and putting it in.

By the time she takes her shirt off, Santana texts back.

_I started to miss you as soon as you were out of my sight_

It's almost weird for her, but she doesn't doubt it for a second.

She finishes changing into her pajamas, grabs Santana's blanket from the bag she got for her, and gets in bed by her still unmoving cat. She texts Santana until there's no reply, and then types out a quick _Goodnight _before setting her alarm and leaving her phone on the nightstand.

A few hours later, when she's still not asleep, she hears her door open and light footsteps across her floor. Her bed dips, and then she feels a small body behind her.

"I missed you," her sister whispers, curling against her back.

"I missed you too," she says softly.

Her sister picks at the blanket blanket covering her back. "I was worried," she says, and Brittany feels her chest tighten.

"Don't be worried," she says, "I'm right here."


	3. The Best Thing

Brittany's mind lets go of things sometimes. Mostly, she just can't find the thing important enough to remember, but once in a while she forgets things she may need later. Like her locker combination.

She's pretty sure there's a 47 in there, and maybe an 8, but it's not enough to get her locker open. More often than not, it pops into her brain after a few minutes, but not today; she thinks, maybe, it has something to do with how it feels like she has been away for so long. It was only one weekend—two days—but it seems like so much more.

(Her hours with Santana meant more than all of the hours at school.)

The numbers still refuse to reveal themselves, so she spins to face the hall and sets out for the office. Santana fills her mind so completely that she is in a surprisingly good mood for being at school.

She glides through the hall untouched at first, but then she is hit with the reminder of why she hates school as other students collide with her; some keep walking as if they hadn't seen her, and the rest shove her as if she has done something wrong. She rights herself and continues down the hall.

There's a new student, she knows, because when there is a new person at the school everyone is talking about it; but it's not until she is a few lockers away from the office, regaining her balance from the foot that tried to trip her, that she sees any sign of the new girl. She can't see her at all, really, due to the jewfro in the way, but she can hear Jacob Ben Israel—the owner of said jewfro—questioning her.

The sound of the girls reply becomes distant as she steps into the office.

* * *

The bell rings just as she makes it back to her locker with a slip of paper containing her combination. Her locker rattles as she opens it in the empty hall, and then clunks as she shuts it after grabbing her Algebra II book.

As soon as she walks into room 7, "You're late, Brittany."

She shuts the door behind her and makes her way to her seat, offering a quick "Sorry" in response.

Mrs. Bletheim stares at her. "You're late _every day_, Brittany," she pushes.

Not knowing what else to say, Brittany shrugs.

(She thinks of how having Santana's eyes on her makes her giddy, and brings that smile to her face, and how all these other eyes make her feel like filth.)

* * *

It's not even second period before her face is covered in cold, syrupy beads of ice.

It's something that was nonexistent until the middle of her sophomore year. One day, out of the blue, the school put a slushy machine in the cafeteria. Brittany was a little excited at first—what's not great about one of your favorite drinks to cheer you up?

And then, this.

Today they even leave her the cup.

She holds her chemistry book to her side, trying to prevent any more of the blue drink from soaking into it, and walks to the nearest bathroom.

The syrup is already sliding down her shirt as she reaches the door; she opens it only to drop her book and be knocked to the side. The girl walks out, and Brittany is alone.

(_It'll all be over this weekend _crosses her mind, but then she remembers.)

It suddenly occurs to her how much she misses Santana.

(Santana still doesn't know.)

Her sticky hand hovers by her pocket, where her phone is tucked inside, and she considers calling her; she's already late to class, and she could really use to hear the sound of Santana's voice.

A drip of slushy falls into her eye, though, and she knows she needs to wash her face before it dries and makes everything worse.

It doesn't take all that long to clear it, but the evidence is distinct down the middle of her shirt.

She calls Santana; she listens all the way through the end of her voicemail, and thinks, maybe, it has put her together enough to make it through the rest of the day.

* * *

At lunch, Brittany sneaks to her usual hideout inside the gym. She's not supposed to be here, technically, but nobody has ever said anything.

She has her mind set on dancing, and it's not until she's on the floor with her phone, ready to play some music, that she sees a text along with a missed call. They're both from Santana.

_I'm sorry I missed your call. I tried to call back but I'm guessing you're in class_

She foregoes the music, and the dancing, and calls Santana.

Her heart lifts when she answers.

"Hey," Santana says, and her voice is soft.

Brittany leans back until her body is against the floor and offers her own, "Hi."

"Sorry for not answering earlier," Santana says. "Did you need something?"

"No," Brittany shakes her head into the dark, empty space, "I just wanted to hear your voice."

There's a pause, and then Santana repeats, "Sorry."

"Stop," Brittany laughs. "I was between classes anyway."

"Okay," Santana says, like she's not really okay with it.

"So what are you doing?"

"Nothing, really; staring at a shitload of work I should be doing." Brittany laughs, and Santana adds, "I'm glad you called."

"Yeah, me too."

There's a little hum from the other end, and then, "What about you? Shouldn't you still be in school?"

"It's lunch," Brittany says.

"I was just thinking about food. What are you eating?"

Brittany lifts her knees and slides her legs close. "I'm not."

"Why not?" Santana asks, and, like an afterthought, "I wish I could bring you lunch."

Brittany glances at the doors, as if Santana was about to walk through. "I wish you could, too."

"Why aren't you eating?" Santana asks again.

"I kinda lost my aptitude. I don't eat at school most days; I just go the gym."

"Appetite, Britt," Santana corrects.

"Oh, right."

"What are you doing then, if you're in the gym and not eating?"

"Most of the time I dance, but today I'm talking to you."

"So you were serious about the dance thing."

"Of course," Brittany says, because she wouldn't lie to Santana.

"How long have you been dancing?"

"As long as I can remember," Brittany says, smiling happily. "Mom says I started dance classes when I was, like, four."

Dancing has always been Brittany's thing; it's practically her life. And when she hears Santana laugh, she can't help but compare the feeling of hearing Santana, being with Santana, to the bliss of dancing.

"Go dance," Santana tells her, and it sounds like _goodbye_, except, "I'll stay on the line and play you music."

Brittany giggles at the idea and sits up. "Sant—"

"Dance for me, Britt."

Her voice is so light and playful; Brittany can't say no to that.

And Santana doesn't give her the chance. As soon as her phone is on the gym floor, before she can even stand up, grainy music is flowing through her speaker.

Brittany laughs at Santana, at the music, at the situation. She takes a few steps away from her phone and begins to dance.

The smile doesn't fall from of her face as she moves, body twisting freely. It feels better than it ever has before; something about the idea of Santana sitting back in her room, on the other end of the phone, thinking about her dancing. Even though Santana can't actually see her, it is exciting.

Her body is ablaze, she feels so ebullient; she gets so entranced by the feel of it all that when the bell rings, she almost misses the sound.

She doesn't even pause before she drops next to her phone.

"Santana," she pants into her upside down phone. The music cuts off and she fumbles to right her phone as she hurries toward the double doors. "I gotta go."

She doesn't mean to cut Santana off, but she's already ending the call when she hears something mumbled from the other end.

(Santana still doesn't know.)

* * *

As soon as Brittany opens her front door, her sister's hand leaves hers. She disappears into the house and Brittany follows her to the kitchen.

"We got apples, Bitty!" her sister squeals, already propped up on the counter next to their mom who is cutting apples.

Brittany smiles at her sisters not-so-sneaky little fingers as she tries to steal an apple circle from the cutting board. Her mom covers the little hand and moves it away, looking over her shoulder to ask, "Peanut butter, Britt?"

Brittany agrees, slipping past her mom to the pantry. She grabs the peanut butter and turns back to find her mother still cutting, and her sister still staring. From the other side of her mom, she glances at her sister before quickly snatching an apple circle at the same time her mom removes her sisters hand again. Instead of a little pout this time, her sister looks at her with a wide grin; she snaps the circle, extending one half behind her moms back.

At the first crunch of the apple, her mom sends her a look that is meant to be a glare; her sister gives in to giggles and she cracks a grin. Their mom shakes her head and opens a drawer, grabs a spoon.

They all sit at the table, Brittany's sister delving into her day without delay. Their mother listens attentively, but Brittany can't help but feel the weight in her pocket. All she can think about is talking to Santana.

(Santana still doesn't know.)

She looks up to excuse herself and finds her mom's eyes already on her. She closes her mouth and looks back. "Not gonna eat the rest of your apples?" her mom asks.

"I'm not that hungry," Brittany says.

"I'll eat 'em!" her sister offers, already reaching for her plate.

"Noo," their mom protests, holding onto the small girl from the side. "Mommy's gonna eat them!"

Her sister giggles and Brittany stands up; she brushes the girls hair back, smiling down at her when she tilts her head to see. "I'm gonna head upstairs."

"I'll call you when dinner's ready," her mom says, smiling warily and watching her as she leaves the room.

* * *

Lord Tubbington is waiting at the top of the stairs, watching her climb the steps and only lifting his head when she reaches the top. His back lifts slowly and then falls—like a sigh—and he follows her to her room.

Brittany sits on the end of her bed and Lord T leaps up, going straight to her pillow and settling into it. Brittany absentmindedly reaches over to stroke his fur and her eyes catch the drawer of her nightstand.

She just stares.

And then she leans closer, earning a disgruntled sound from Lord T, and removes the envelope.

Her fingers run across the paper; she's conflicted again.

She pulls Santana's blanket into her lap and shuffles on the bed until her back is against the headboard. She drapes the blanket over her lap and sets the letter on top.

She wants to talk to Santana, but not about _this_.

How is she going to tell her?

("Santana, I...")

The words have gone through her mind a million times, she has written them out, but she has never said them out loud.

* * *

There's a soft knock on her door, there's a _meow _somewhere close. She opens her eyes and her dad is smiling from the crack at her door.

"Dinner's ready, Britt," he says.

"'Kay," she croaks, struggling to move her hands; she peeks down to find the weight on her lap is Lord Tubbington.

"Hop up," her dad says, closing the door. Lord T slinks off her lap, freeing her hands and revealing the now crumpled envelope. She flattens it over her knee once before returning it to the drawer and joining her family downstairs.

Halfway through dinner, she gets a text from Santana.

_You left your picture in my room_

She smiles, just a little, because _Santana_; she falters because, at first, her plan was to leave the picture for Santana since she would have no use for it.

(Santana still doesn't know.)

She doesn't send anything back. Her phone goes back to her pocket and she hurriedly eats everything left on her plate so she can get back to her room.

* * *

She feeds Lord Tubbington his usual serving of leftovers before jumping toward the stairs. He looks like he wants to follow, but stays with his food. She makes sure her door isn't shut fully because she knows he'll be up soon.

Her phone is out of her pocket when she reaches her bed, but she only holds it. She gathers Santana's blanket in her arms and settles back onto her place against the headboard. The blanket is spread over her lap again, and then her phone is there.

She finds Santana's number.

She glances at the door.

She calls.

There's about six rings, and then Santana picks up.

But she doesn't say anything, and it's silent for a moment.

And then, "Hey."

"Hey," Brittany says back.

(She thinks Santana's voice may just be the best thing.)

"How is it being home?" Santana asks.

"It's okay," Brittany says, when she really wants to say _too far away from you_.

There's a pause before, "Your parents aren't mad or anything?"

"Why would they be mad?" Brittany questions.

"I kinda got the feeling they didn't exactly know about your trip..."

Brittany shrugs, then sighs because that won't work with Santana not in front of her. "They still don't, but everything is fine. Really."

Santana responds with an uncertain, "Good."

"What about you? How was your day?"

"Oh, uh... it was alright. Nothing big; class, homework..."

(It sounds like there's more.)

She's about to ask _Santana?_ but—

"I—Because we talked earlier I didn't—Can we talk about it?"

(Brittany was waiting for this, but she wants to forget _it_.)

(She wants to forget it and remember Santana.)

(But Santana still doesn't know.)

"Yeah..."

(Santana needs to know.)

"At the airport, I didn't want to let you go; especially after..."

"I know." A breath. "I'm sorry; it's just so much, and I couldn't leave without saying anything... and I didn't lie about anything, I swear. I did go to have a good day, and the moment I saw you I just had to say something to you. And it's been driving me crazy that you don't know. You don't know what you did, and what I..."

"Brittany," Santana says, and it sounds like _please_.

"I'm sad, Santana."

But that's not it.

"I was... I was _so _done with it. Everything. And it's not even—I don't know. New York... it was the first place I thought of. When I—when the day was over... I was going to—"

(_I was going to commit suicide._)

Her head fills with tears fighting to get out and she swallows. "I was going to kill myself," she chokes out, her skin prickling as a shiver runs from her cheeks to her shoulders to her arms to back to her legs to her chest.

(Santana knows.)

(Santana knows.)

(Santana knows.)

And there's nothing. No response. No sound. She pulls the phone back, but Santana hasn't hung up.

(Oh, god.)

She begins to worry that it's too much for Santana, that she doesn't want to deal with all of this.

And then she hears a sniffle.

She frowns, whispers, "Santana?" and then, "Are you crying?"

Again, nothing; but this time Brittany can hear it. Santana is breathing hard, erratic.

(She made Santana cry.)

"Oh, no, Santana," she pleads. "Santana... please don't cry."

"Brittany..."

It's all in her voice, and Brittany hates it.

"I'm so sorry, Santana," is all she can say.

"No," Santana says quickly; she's trying to clear her voice, she's trying to make herself able to speak. "No, Britt, don't apologize to me..."

"Sant—"

"How could I—" Santana's voice wavers. "How could I not _fucking_—"

"I never meant to make you deal with this..."

"Brittany." Her voice is low again. "God, Britt. I wish you were here right now. I wish I could... I wish I would have..."

Brittany didn't expect that. "You want me to be there with you?"

"_Of course_," Santana says, like it should be obvious. "I wish I could hug you right now, and just... never let go. _Fuck_, I wish I would have done... more."

Brittany lets it be silent for a moment.

Then,

"You did everything, Santana."

"What?"

"You helped me have the most perfect day. And you... and you asked me to _stay_, Santana. And I did... b-because of you."

"But—"

"I'm here because of you."

"I wasn't the only one you spent your day with, Brittany. There was Kurt, and Sam."

"I had my mind made up. I loved meeting them, but they weren't going to change that; they didn't. But... _you _did."

"Brittany..."

They're quiet for a while; a long while, Brittany thinks, but she's too content listening to Santana's breaths to care. Her eyes are closed, and all she wants is to feel Santana next to her.

"Is that why you were crying the other morning?" Santana asks suddenly.

Brittany can tell she already knows the answer, but says, "Yeah."

She hears something like a sigh from the other end. "You're... how are you feeling now?"

"Calm," she says truthfully. "But sad because... and I made you cry."

"Oh, Britt," Santana says. "Your parents... do they know?"

"No," Brittany says, glancing at her nightstand drawer, thinking about how they might react.

"Does anyone else know?"

"Only you," Brittany says. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

"I understand, it's a big deal. I'm just... I'm glad you told me at all."

"So you're not freaked out or... something?"

"Freaked out? Why would I be?"

"I've heard people talk about s—about what I was going to do, and they never say anything nice; it's always that the person is selfish, or stupid... and they just make fun of it."

If there's anything good about being treated like you don't exist, it's that people will talk in front of you. Brittany's not much for gossip, but she learns a lot. It's not always good—or almost never good, she guesses—and she will never forget about how they ridicule Suzy Pepper for trying to kill herself when they don't even know her reasons.

"I would never," Santana says. "Brittany, you are so amazing."

Brittany laughs. She shouldn't be surprised, because this is Santana, but she feels the relief instantly; she doesn't know what she would do if Santana rejected her now. "You're amazing-er." Santana laughs, too.

"Um," Santana starts, "I get it if you don't... but do you maybe wanna talk about it?"

"Can we have a few more minutes first?" Brittany asks.

"We can have as many minutes as you need," Santana says, her voice so tender Brittany has to say,

"I think I just need you."

"Okay," Santana whispers.

And she listens to Santana breathe; it's the most calming thing she's ever heard.

"I miss you," she sighs.

"I miss you too," Santana says.

Lord Tubbington saunters into the room and pauses, examining Brittany, before continuing and sitting next to the bed. Brittany gets up to close and lock her door and then gathers Lord T in her arms, trying to keep her phone against her ear as she lifts him to the bed. He walks up the bed and to Brittany's pillow; Brittany sits next to him and pulls Santana's blanket back over her lap.

"It's hard to handle everything," she begins to explain. "School is hard enough by itself, but people..." She's never been good at explaining things, but she really wants to help Santana understand. "It wasn't something I decided right away. I'd thought about it before, but I'd never actually considered it... but then I did, and it made sense.

"I even called one of those hotlines, y'know? I think we talked for a long time, and everything they said made sense, but none of it stopped me from feeling the way I do. I still waited, though. I thought about it a lot, but my mind always went back there."

"You seemed so happy when you were here," Santana says. "I had no idea..."

"I was happy," Brittany assures.

"But you... you were still going to do it, weren't you? After our date, that was why you were leaving?"

"I wanted to stay with you. I thought I needed to do it, though."

"But you didn't."

"You asked me to stay. And the way you looked at me..."

"It was my perfect day too; I couldn't just let you walk away."

Brittany's butterflies flutter at the words, and the memory of the words, and she blurts out, "You're the best thing that has ever happened to me, Santana."

"Me too, Britt," Santana breathes.

They don't go much further than that, don't unearth all the reasons. Brittany turns off her light and relaxes into the dark, exchanging words with Santana.

Santana is calm again, and Brittany manages to convince her to get some of her schoolwork done—she even helps; _helps_ is more like making up stuff and getting both of them to laugh, though.

She hears Santana yawn, even when she tries to hide it, and she knows they have been talking for hours, and she knows it has to be late, but she doesn't want to pull the phone from her ear to look.

But eventually she has to ask, "Do you need to go?"

Santana tells her no. "I want to talk. I'm here until you're ready to hang up."

The hours pass, and she's still not ready to let Santana go—or she doesn't want to. She knows she should tell Santana to sleep, but Santana stifles her yawns and talks and listens to her talk in return.

It's only when a loud ringing sounds in her ear that she realizes how long they have actually been on the phone. It's her alarm. Her 6:30 A.M. alarm for school.

"I have to go to school," she mumbles.

"Oh," Santana says, like she didn't know either.

She moves off the bed. "I'm sorry I kept you up all night."

"I should be the one saying sorry," Santana insists. "I don't have class till the afternoon, but you have to go now without sleep."

She steps out into the hallway, smiling tiredly. "How 'bout neither of us says sorry?"

Santana breathes out a laugh. "Yeah, okay, that sounds good."

Brittany notices how tired Santana sounds now and she feels bad but can't help but smile more. "Go to sleep now; I'm gonna wake my sister up and get ready."

"Will you call me later?" Santana asks. "When you're in the gym and not eating?"

"Definitely," Brittany says, smile so big in the way only Santana seems to cause. "I'll call and talk to you instead of dance."

"G'night, Britt," Santana says; Brittany imagines the way it sounds like Santana is smiling.

"Sleep good, Santana."

Brittany stands in the middle of her hall, phone pressed to her ear, in silence. She hears one last sound from Santana's end before the call cuts off.

She puts her phone back in her jeans from yesterday before going to her sisters room. She unplugs the nightlight and flicks on the bedside lamp before touching her sister, saying her name, and peeling her cover back. Her sister looks up at her, eyes half closed.

"Are we late?" she asks.

"No," Brittany smiles and shakes her head, "but it's time to get up."

Her sister squeaks out her unusual morning noise and grabs her hand. Brittany turns the lamp off before pulling her sister toward the door and leading her to the bathroom. She returns to her room to grab clothes before going down the stairs with Lord Tubbington in tow; she stops in the kitchen to put him some food out before going to the guest bathroom, which is pretty much hers, to take a shower.

She eats a quick breakfast with her sister and then they're both walking out the front door.

Brittany thinks of Santana, and she's ready for another day.

* * *

**A/N: I just want to say thank you to everyone who encouraged me to continue this and everyone who is sticking with it.**

**I also want to say I'm sorry for how long I take to update, but I hope it** **is somehow worth it.**


End file.
